Pop-culture: August 2006 Archives

Ten short years


So my 10-year high school reunion is this Saturday. I haven't yet made up my mind as to whether or not I want to go, although the invite did say that there would be a four-hour open bar. THAT SHOULD BE A REQUIREMENT, NOT A PERK.

I do not talk to anyone that I graduated high school with. I had a small group of friends with whom I kept in touch during college, but one by one they all faded away. Either I was busy with my academic workload and job, or I was dating some jerk who didn't like my friends because my friends had more common sense than I did.

When I think of high school I think of track. I also think of dance because I danced for a frillion years, with a discipline emphasis in ballet because I thought about going pro after school. Except that I got burned out because if I had to deal with one more over-dramatic director with fried hair or one more catty, purging ballerina I was going to gouge my eyes out with my fingernails. I realized that I lacked the Joan Collins gene, a requirement for that field.

I also think of my friends and it would be nice to see how things are going for some. But still, I don't know. I hated high school. I hated the stagnant little fishbowl world it created. It's hard to remain stationary when you've already figured out what you want to do with your life.

What I'd like to know is do any of you have 10-years coming up? Did any of you go to your 10-year reunion? Why and what was it like?

The Lil' Mimi look


I love my boys and still pine for a daughter, but every now and then something comes along that causes me to reevaluate my blessings and thank God for totally NOT giving me a daughter. Among these things are dating, dating, the whining, the borrowing of my clothes without asking, dating, those freaky little My Little Ponies, and play make-up.

When I was a little girl my mother bought me a large plastic bust of a Barbie head with corn silk hair and her very own makeup. No amount of effort or makeup could ever make my Barbie look like one of the models in the TV Guide; in fact, the Barbie head resembled a hooker-clown.

My friend's daughter recently received a gift of play makeup from her (the friend's) mother-n-law. I noticed it because she looked like she might have been beaten up at the circus.

My friend told her MIL: "Next time get her REAL makeup instead. This stuff's impossible to get off. Plus she looks like some sort of freaky streetwalker. You know I had to get this stuff off with tool grease?"


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Dana asks: "Thanksgiving Traditions: Yours or Your Mother's?"